Moonlight Sonata
by HeartsHungBehind
Summary: Kurt hated that coffee shoppe, but couldn't seem to keep himself from going back.
1. Chapter 1

Kurt came into the coffee house every night. It was never for the atmosphere. The baristas were rude and the other customers sat around for hours in those strange, thrifty clothes that were purchased with the intent of creating false individuality, yet blended them all together seamlessly. The room was decorated like any old coffee shoppe, with dark walls and scenic mountain portraits all around. He certainly didn't come for the coffee, a bland and scalding brew that forced you to remain in the shoppe until it had cooled to a point of drinkability. By that time you're hungry as well, and you're out ten dollars for a cup of bad brew and a stick of biscotti that could just as easily be purchased in a supermarket.

No, Kurt didn't go for any of that. He went for him. He was there almost every night, sitting at the grand piano dumped unceremoniously in the corner as a piece of decoration. It was dusty and out of tune, yet every note he played floated through the air with grace and ease. He should be a professional, Kurt always thought to himself. Maybe he _was _a professional; Kurt had never actually spoken to him to find out. You don't just walk up to a beautiful, talented man who play pianos in coffee shoppes for no apparent reason and ask him about his profession.

Tonight, he walked in only a few moments after Kurt. Kurt bought his usual cup of the least offensive coffee and settled himself into a crushed velvet armchair, closing his eyes and waiting for a melodic tune to flood his senses. The pianist wore dark, tight jeans and a red button-up shirt, a color that balanced well with his dark curls and made his olive skin glow in the dim lighting. Kurt could hear his order, just a medium drip with half-and-half to cool it down. His voice was just as endearing as the music, if not more so.

It was so frustrating. Kurt had moved to New York to try new things, to have the audacity that had failed him in Lima, Ohio and be the person he had always dreamed of becoming. The new Kurt Hummel would walk right up to this man, buy him a coffee and ask his name properly.

The man got his drip and set it beside himself on the piano bench. He was playing Moonlight Sonata tonight. Kurt wished for the courage to go and sit beside him on that bench, to let their hands brush the keys together in time, but it never came.


	2. Chapter 2

Kurt didn't think he could ever actually _talk_ to the pianist. Honestly, the thought left him shaky, his heart pounding wildly behind his ribs. But that didn't have to stop him from interacting with the man in small, subtle ways.

He started with a smile. Easy enough. The pianist walked into the coffee shoppe one Tuesday night, distracted by a message on his phone. Kurt saw him and blushed when the man looked up from his phone and caught his stare. All Kurt could think to do – his thoughts were understandably incoherent at the time – was smile. The man smiled back, a cheeky smile intensified by the direct contact from those hazel eyes of his, and got in line for his coffee.

_You did it, _Kurt thought to himself. _Actual contact. Congratulations. _This was his window, his first and possibly only opportunity to go over there and introduce himself. Yet the pianist got his medium drip, sat on the piano bench, and began playing snips of Beethoven's Fifth while Kurt failed to move an inch.

Their next interaction came one week, three days, one hour and forty-seven minutes later – not that Kurt was counting, obviously. He was in line, trying to decide if he wanted an overpriced brownie to go with his overpriced coffee, when the pianist entered the shoppe. His hair was slicked back less than usual, showing off that curly black hair that Kurt longed to run his fingers through. He was wearing bright yellow pants that day, with a black polo and a checkered bow tie. Kurt knew it was rude to stare, but...

"Sir?"

His head snapped away from the pianist's direction as his attention was redirected to the barista. "Huh?

"I asked if you'll be needing anything else."

"Oh... ummm..." Suddenly feeling brave, Kurt chanced one last glance at the mysterious subject of his affections and whispered, "Just pay for whatever that guy wants, okay?" Kurt slipped the cashier another five dollar bill. "Keep the change."

She nodded and took his money with a wink. "Do you want me to let him know it was you?"

"What? No, no. No need for that. Just tell him it's been taken care of." The barista smiled knowingly as she handed Kurt his grande nonfat mocha, and he quietly thanked her before unceremoniously plopping into his armchair and ducking low into the cushions to be unseen.

The pianist made it to the front of the line and ordered his medium drip. When he reached for his wallet, the barista shook her head. "It's been taken care of," she said, putting a hand up to stop him from handing her his credit card.

"Really?" His voice was a nice baritone, a clear and even pitch that would sound beautiful against Kurt's tenor. "Who was it?" Kurt could almost feel the man's gaze against the back of his head, for surely he was looking around the room realizing someone there had done him a service that day.

"He'd rather not say." She handed him his cup and said cheerily, "It must be your lucky day, that's all."

He laughed, and the feeling of being watched stirred once again in Kurt. "It must be. Thanks, Claire."

"No problem, Blaine."

_Blaine_. That was his name. A nice name, too. Blaine and Kurt. Kurt and Blaine. It had a sort of ring to it, if you said it enough times. Blaine sat at the piano and began improvising verses, playing Ode to Joy over a series of harmonies and bass chords. Kurt thought it was beautiful, but it would sound so much better if the piano was tuned.

Then his next big idea struck him. Oh, it was all too obvious now. Why didn't he think of it sooner?


	3. Chapter 3

A week later, Kurt sat in his armchair with a knowing smirk on his face. Blaine walked into the tiny coffee shoppe and unrolled the scarf from around his neck, shaking off the cold and breathing into his chilled hands. Kurt avoided eye contact today; he feared it would give away the surprise.

Blaine waited in line for what felt like forever to Kurt, who was incredibly eager to see how his little scheme would play out. It was supposed to be poetic, in a way, for Blaine to hear the harmonies of a well-tuned piano and have no clue who had blessed him with such a gift. He would surely be grateful, but would have no one to be grateful toward. It was just a kind, simple way to bring a smile to a handsome gentleman's face and expect absolutely nothing but the chance to behold his sweet music in return. That's poetry right there; two people unwittingly finding each other and, simply through music, pleasing one another beyond compare.

At least, that's how the whole thing was playing out in Kurt's head. He peeked over his shoulder to find Blaine settling comfortably at the bench, cracking his knuckles quietly before deciding what to play first. He plunked his finger down on the A440, usually so under it's intended pitch that one should just avoid it completely, and out rang a deep tone that filled the shoppe with its presence. It's the kind of note that when perfectly tuned fills and lifts your soul with the anticipation of vibrations to come. And this clear, absolutely beautiful note, caused Blaine to jump so violently that his drip almost spilled on the tile at his feet.

A barista looked over the counter at him. "You okay, Blaine?"

"Did... did you get this tuned?" His thick eyebrows were knit in adorable confusion.

She shook her head. "No, that guy's friend did it."

Kurt's cheeks immediately flooded with a dark pink as the barista pointed straight at him. He squeaked and dropped out of sight, slipping deeper into the crushed velvet than should be humanly possible. He heard quiet footsteps slowly approach his hiding spot, and Kurt knew that soon the inability to form coherent sentences would swallow him whole and he would be left powerless against the beautiful music man.

"Hi," Blaine said from behind him. Kurt looked up and gave him a quick nod, acknowledging his presence. "You know, that was really cool of you to get that old thing tuned up. I wish I had the money right now to do that, but I think I'm what they call a 'starving artist' around here." He laughed awkwardly at his own joke, but all Kurt could do was stare. "Well, thanks, I guess."

Blaine turned to walk back to his bench, and Kurt made a strange, guttural noise of protest. "I'm sorry, what?"

_Oh god_, he thought to himself. _Well now I have to say something, or I'll just look like a freak. _"I didn't pay for it, it's uh... not a big deal. I go to a performing arts school nearby and, well, you can always find a particularly gifted peer to help you with this or that."

"Oh, really?" Blaine doubled back and grabbed a metal chair from a nearby table to sit and face Kurt. "Well that was really nice of them!" He had this sort of smile that said, _Yes, I'm genuinely excited about what you're saying. Please continue._

"Yeah, I suppose. They were looking to get a bit of practice and I was looking to... well, you know."

Blaine laughed and blushed. "Yeah, I think I do. I'm Blaine."

"I kn- I mean, I'm Kurt." Blaine extended a hand and Kurt shook it, the firm grip enhanced by the feel of small guitar callouses rubbing roughly against his skin. Blaine seemed to be a talented young man.

"So..." Kurt slurred, attempting to buy himself more time. "How does one get into the business of playing out of tune pianos in public cafes?"

Blaine laughed. "I'm friends with some of the people who work here. I know they won't kick me out, and I don't exactly have my own piano to practice on at the moment." He looked almost longingly at the piano collecting dust in the corner. "Most of my instruments are at home, back in Ohio. Just because I could finally get out of there doesn't mean they could all come with me."

"Ohio? That's where I'm from." The corners of Kurt's lips perked up, and Blaine's eyes followed the motion intently.

"Small world," Blaine replied as a sort of twinkle graced his eyes. "So, Kurt from Ohio. If I'm not mistaken, I owe you a coffee."

Kurt blushed an even deeper shade of pink, quite possibly the darkest he had ever blushed. "You figured me out," he said with a shy laugh. Blaine shrugged and stood up to get back in line. "Nonfat mocha, if you wouldn't mind. I can pay for it though, I don't want you to starve on my account."

It was Blaine's turn to blush. "Don't be a dummy, it's on me."

* * *

The next time Kurt entered the coffee shoppe, his ears were met with the fluttering charm of the Butterfly Waltz. His smile grew when he saw a medium drip sitting beside a nonfat mocha on the piano bench and a handsome pianist scooted all the way to the edge, waiting for someone to sit beside him for a duet.


End file.
